


This Isn't the Redemption I Wanted

by Yenawrita



Series: Pokémon Husbandry 101 [2]
Category: Pokemon - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Officer MC, Pokephilia, Second person POV, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 10:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21408679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yenawrita/pseuds/Yenawrita
Summary: An illicit crime, anonymously reported. You, the officer, maliciously deported. Deposed of job, without just dues, what is a lowly ex-cop to do? Head back home and start again, this time with a childhood friend.
Series: Pokémon Husbandry 101 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538329
Kudos: 8





	This Isn't the Redemption I Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Welcome to the next story in the series! I spent an extra long time on this chapter as a good build up before the scenes get graphic, so if you're here for smut, skip to the next chapter (if it's there yet). Otherwise, if you like the story aspects and want to see more glimpses like this, let me know! And if you liked what you read, tell me that too! Leave love, and enjoy! ♥

“Oh! Oh! Mff! Fuck, yes! Oh! I’m gonna…!”  
A woman moans with wild abandon in the rustic lighting of a hearth’s fire. Warm jazz lilts through the short silences between her furtive gasps. It’s hard to hear over the united din, but there’s also the sounds of panting somewhere beyond your scope of vision. Where you’re standing, hidden in the entryway of the daycare on Unova’s Route 3, you can see the owners’ daughter perched across the downy fabric of their kotatsu, fingers buried deep into the denim of her jeans. She’s got her eyes focused on the part of the room you can’t see from your vantage point, but you surmise it must be a partner of some sort.  
You hope it is, in any case.  
“I’m gonna…! I’m- hnn! Oh, Arceus above, I’m coming!”  
You and your partner both exchange a blush when you catch his gaze on the other side of the door you’re peeking through, and when you mouth an inquiry about the other side of the room, your face drops to a disappointed scowl as he confirms part of the anonymous report’s validity. You can’t just barge in and arrest the woman on a coincidence though. As much as both you and your partner loathe the orders, you can’t act until she’s caught in the act.  
When you turn your focus back inside, the woman’s disrobing, tossing aside the jeans and her visibly soaked underwear before bending back over the kotatsu so that instead of her face you’re seeing, it’s her naked lower half, with legs spread wide and one hand splaying the apex there ever wider still. “Come and get it, boy,” you hear her growl, and with the press of a button in her other hand, you hear the clattering of claws on the hardwood floor as an Electrike moves into view.  
You watch in open disgust as the Electrike scrambles up over the woman’s hips, nesting down against her with a delighted snarl, and you see the veiny yellow taper of its… You can’t even manage to summon the word, you’re so ill with the situation unfolding… But you watch it slip free of its sheath and disappear into the woman with a staggering speed. She lets out another groan as she lets the Pokémon delve inside, and you and your partner take no pleasure in doing the same.

* * *

It’s been months since that arrest, but you keep finding yourself up at night, haunted by the vision of her getting speared by the Electrike. You’ve burned it into the backs of your eyelids despite every effort to bleach the memory from your brain. Short of a traumatic head injury, or a good Hypno’s hypnosis, you’ve tried everything to wash the stain away, and yet it’s still there. While you wouldn’t say the pursuit to cleanse yourself of the experience has left you scarred, it’s definitely made you more reckless on the force.  
Even now, as you’re bent over the counter of your studio apartment’s kitchen with your partner’s face buried deep into the heady wetness between your legs, you’re preoccupied with the vivid image of the Electrike’s… _Thing_… burrowed inside that girl. Shortly after booking the distraught woman, you and your partner began this little stint together- strictly friends with benefits- and for a while it was great. A good couple months of illicit foreplay between shifts, an errant fuck with the uniforms on when the Chief’s back was turned. For a while, the danger of being caught was good enough to overwhelm the memory.  
But now, as you stare out into the rest of your sparse apartment and its lack of real personality, your belly knotting with the fast approaching gush of an orgasm you barely feel, all you _can_ feel is disgust. With that woman. With your partner. With yourself. You’re chasing the dragon as some might say, looking for an ever bigger hit of something, if only to fill the void or chase away bad memories. Your lips part with a low hitching moan, and you soak your partner’s prickly facial hair in liquid praise, but you feel none of the pleasure you’re displaying to him.  
A short hour later, when he’s danced in and out of a condom, worked another climax out of you before ultimately finding his own, and dressed again out the door, you’re left alone in the not-enough-light of your apartment, spent in body, but reeling in the mind. How long did that girl get away with fucking the Pokémon she and her parents took care of? How many people who trusted them to treat their Pokémon well, had unknowingly left their precious friends and family to be taken advantage of by that woman?  
She’d been smart- short of the anonymous tipper’s glimpse through the windows by chance, there was no evidence of the woman ever having committed the act before. No pictures, no video, no eyewitness testimony. Anything of genetic importance at the scene that wasn’t directly from the Electrike in their temporary care could not be admitted as evidence- the daycare saw its fair share of Pokémon breeding, considering, and there was just too much a risk that any number of their cared for tenants might have tracked it in from outside. Had she not been careless, the woman might have gotten away with it forever.  
When you’ve had enough of the futility of rumination, you dress in a set of gray sweats and make yourself a package of chicken udon to ward off the chill that’s seeping through your windows, and settle into your recliner to watch the evening news. Between slurping bites of the steaming noodles, you listen.  
“_… of increased littering all across Unova in recent months, and scientists are imploring the public to address the problem. Talks with city officials across the region have not gone over well, and the…_”  
“_… expecting snow in much of the Unova highlands. Meanwhile, the Alolan region has been experiencing an inordinately rainy season, with heavy winds from the south carrying storms up into…_”  
“_… strange sightings of a new Pokémon? Professors all over the regions are reporting that they’ve never seen a Skiddo with metal seed-pods before…_”  
“_… new Pokémon contest has sprung up in Hoenn, much to the delight of its citizens. Locals and travelers alike are encouraged…_”  
You zone out through all the segments, barely retaining any of the information, only the barest sense of their delivery remaining when you turn off the television and meander to bed. When your dreams come, they’re afflicted with the sight of that woman and the Electrike, only the Pokémon’s grown vines and chokes her with them too. In the morning, your alarm spares you the worst your brain has to offer, but you bolt out of bed in a cold sweat, and have to fight the urge to retch all through breakfast.

* * *

When the court date comes six months later for the daycare woman to face charges, you’re obligated to provide witness testimony, along with your partner. It’s been a messy navigation through legal red tape to make sure the proceedings remain behind closed doors, and the trial is no less problematic. Both of you provide your statements, but everything unravels when the daycare woman’s legal representative gets to cross-examine you.  
Your partner slips up first, led down a Digsby hole of questioning that undermines his testimony. It’s baffling, but you’re not entirely surprised that he messes up- he’s a skilled officer, but there’s not a lot above the belt in the end. It’s not his muddling through the questions that gets him in deep, though. When a late afternoon recess comes to a close, new evidence has been submitted and reviewed on both the peoples’ part, and the part of the defendant. Evidence, as it so happens, that completely undoes both you, _and_ your partner with its presentation.  
Photos are brought to the attention of the court, of you and him together, unprofessionally. When it’s said, unprofessionally is as much their court-safe lingua franca for “you twos was fuckin’” as the statement itself. They show you the photos, and they _are_ legitimate, much to your chagrin. This isn’t all they’re using to blow your testimony out of court, though. Evidence materializes over the next few days that paints you as a jealous, spurned suitor, using your partner’s trust and the trust of your precinct in order to get back at her.  
Both you and your partner do your best to refute the accusations, but by then the damage had been done to your credibility. After weeks of closed-court proceedings, the entire case had been thrown out. You were spared a court date of your own, but at the cost of your job. Officially, you were let go because of fraternization, but when “evidence” was anonymously submitted to the precinct of your guilt in being the very anonymous tipper from the apprehending of the daycare woman in the first place, not only did you lose your job, you lost the trust of your partner.  
When whispers of what you allegedly did were put into the mouths of the public, you were all but run out of Unova in its entirety. With no job, you’re quickly running out of options, so you post up with family in New Bark Town in the Johto region, reaching out online where you can for a job. Something to get you back on your feet, to put money in your pocket, and the shambles of your life back on something of a track. It’s not going well, though, and more often than not, you catch yourself with that woman’s face in your head.  
She was smug when you last saw her at the end of the trial, looking your way with the same self-satisfied expression you saw her give the Electrike before she took off her pants. When you think about it, it sets your blood to boiling. And you think about it often.

* * *

A couple weeks tick by with barely a nibble’s worth of work. Day jobs are all you can manage, and they’re nothing compared to what you did before. You’re an officer through and through, not some day laborer. But you wake up one morning to a message waiting for you from the Professor in town, and they seem interested in your skillset. They don’t elaborate on what exactly it is they’re looking for in said skillset, but the proposed starting pay is more than you were making on an officer’s pension, so if nothing else, it’s worth checking out.  
You slip out of bed and get ready, dressing with a business-casual style that seems neither too official, nor too relaxed for the potential interview ahead of you. Breakfast down, teeth brushed, and you’re out the door and on your bike, headed for the Pokémon Lab a few miles away. You make it there in good time, and when you settle your bike into one of the locking boots at the lab, you notice you must be just in time for them to open, because there are several people in the lab’s logo all milling for the doors when you arrive.  
It’s not difficult to surmise where to go then, when you fall in line behind them. Once inside the solid glass doors, you break away from the milling lab-coats and head for the front desk, where a spritely young man has just settled in and seems to be enjoying his cup of coffee while he checks his own messages for the day. His bubbly features and warm brown eyes remind you of one of your ex-coworkers, and you try not to think about that too much when he addresses you. “Can I help you?”  
“Good morning, and yes,” you respond, fishing out your phone to show him your invitation. “The Professor asked to see me. It’s for potential employment.”  
“Of course!” he beams, setting aside his cup to type away for several seconds. “Ah, yes! I have you right here. It doesn’t look like we were expecting you for another day or two! Glad to see you’re quick on the response time. I’ll let the Professor know you’re here, and we’ll get you squared away. Please, take a seat in the meantime, and do let me know if I can get you anything! We have coffee, tea, and there’s a vending machine down the hall to your left.” He gestures the direction he meant, but you graciously decline and settle down to wait.  
Some fifteen minutes or so later, the receptionist gathers your attentions and together the two of you head for a lift. Down three floors, to the bottom of the lab as the elevator suggests, you both depart and make your way through a series of hallways that, as you notice rather swiftly, are much different than the pristine white of the ground level you just left. Brutalist architecture greets you, all concrete from floor to ceiling, the lights diffused through panes overhead that make everything more gray. A gut feeling begins to knot itself in your stomach, and you get a bad feeling you’re in a horror movie, but just don’t know it.  
The receptionist must sense your unease, because he chimes in with a gentle joke that warms you despite its corniness. You two share a laugh that chases away all your unease, and then you’re abruptly here. There. Wherever this is, in front of an oak door that feels so out of place in all the rest of the architecture. “The professor’s office is through that door. He asked to see you himself.” Ever smiling, the receptionist retreats back a few feet respectfully, leaving you to enter at your discretion. Emboldened by the warmth of the receptionist’s company, you grip the handle and turn, pushing your way inside.  
“Oh! Miss? I’m so sorry, I forgot!” He moves up behind you and extends a cup with a travel lid, which you take on reflex more than on desire. “You looked tired, so I made you a cup while you were waiting.” Another smile, and you can’t help but do so in turn.  
“Thank you,” you say, and you find you mean it. Turning from him, now laden with the steamy warmth of your coffee, you head inside.

* * *

The room beyond is startlingly small. You would, in fact, not hesitate to guess that it’s smaller than the apartment you had back in Unova. You don’t get much time to really get your bearings in the space, but it’s a jarring return to the architecture of the first floor, and you’re momentarily squinting against the sterile white as you move towards a chair across from the glass desk the Professor is nested behind. He’s bright eyed just like the receptionist, but that’s the extent of their similarities. For all the receptionist’s crisp and boyish charm, the Professor is rugged and thick of body in all senses of the word.  
While his coarse brown hair is salted with the stress of the job, he’s only just starting to show the wrinkles in his brow, and the laugh lines around his cheeks. He’s a man you can imagine laughing while working, though he hardly looks like your classical man of science. With a physique more attuned to outdoor work, when he extends his hand for you to shake, the labcoat strains to contain the muscles that contract beneath, and you don’t miss the callouses that scrape against yours when you _do_ take his hand. “Professor Redwood. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss.”  
The shake is firm, but when you meet it with an equal amount of assertive warmth, his features brighten, filling out all the wrinkles you’ve noted with a grin that puts the receptionist’s to shame. “The pleasure is all mine, Redwood.” The both of you settle into your respective seats, and when you open your mouth to start into the questions related to your position, he holds up a hand to stop you.  
“I always find interviews and employment discussions best shared over a cuppa. Did the receptionist…” His sharp, icy blue eyes catch sight of the cup in your hand. “Ah, yes perfect. Your cup is there. Would you care to join me in my ritual?” Asked with a laugh, he holds up his own mug in query. While you’re not typically a coffee drinker, you shrug warmly enough and join in, taking a healthy gulp in time with the Professor. It’s surprisingly sweet. The receptionist must have anticipated you liking sugar. Good guess on his part.  
“Ahhh, yes. Delightful as always. Now,” the Professor, cup set aside, claps his hands together while you passively sip your coffee, “I’ve had the foresight to do a bit of research on you, my dear, and-” He stops when your features visibly change to a combination of fury and fear, but he holds his hand again. “Don’t worry, I don’t believe a word of it. Matter of fact, I’m more inclined to believe you, but that’s not the point. I mention this only so we’re both moving forward on the right and honest foot.” He nods once, sage-like. “We have reason to believe your presence here, for studying purposes, would be of great benefit to our team. You see- and no, to ease your mind, this isn’t related to that case- we’re in the midst of conducting research on the differences between wild and domesticated Pokémon breeding habits.  
“We’ve reached out to you because, well frankly, you’re a unique case. You see, we have in our possession a pokéball that we managed to link up to you… When you were eight years old, I do believe.” Redwood continues talking as he fishes out the discolored ball, but you aren’t listening. All you can focus on is the vague recollection of the Pokémon inside the ball, and the little drawing of a sun you permanently etched into its pink face. He extends the Love Ball to you, falling silent when he notices your hyper focus, and lets you have your moment.  
The ball is much smaller than you remember, and it’s covered in scratches, weathering, and various other cruelties… But as you turn it over in your hand, the sun is right there on its side, the same as the day you carved it. You can’t remember how you lost it, but the tears come without your permission, and you clutch it to your chest, afraid that it might disappear if you let it go. “How?” is all you can manage through your mix of emotions.  
Professor Redwood smiles that smile, and spreads his hands upward in a shrug. “Honestly?” he inquires with rhetorical meaning. “We have a good relationship with the Alolan branch of the Pokémon Lost & Found. The PLF is a non-profit all over every region, trying to reunite citizens with their beloved Pokémon. Yours was sent here when the serial on the Love Ball was found to be sourced in Johto. When you moved back here, the system updated… And well, here we are.” He glances away with a genial shrug, then settles his gaze back on you, gesturing for another toast with the mug he’s lifting. “Are you willing to hear me out with your employment?”  
“Are you kidding me?” you ask, taking a leaf from his book with the rhetorical. “You’ve just given me my Pokémon from childhood. I’ll do anything you ask.”  
You fail to catch the steely glint in the Professor’s eye as you both oblige social convention and drain your mutual cups of coffee. “I’m glad to hear it, Miss,” he says when you’re both done. “Now, your situation is unique for several reasons. Firstly,” he begins, counting off the reasons on each finger, “you’ve established a relationship with a wild Pokémon. Second, you’ve had an extended period of years between that time and now. Third, now that we have you, we can observe exactly how breeding will change between the first days it’s released, up until it recognizes you and re-bonds all over again.  
“Unlike anyone else who might start with a freshly caught Pokémon in our study, yours has the unique experience of knowing a trainer’s affections, and then losing that.” Redwood pauses, both for your benefit and for his own. Letting out a sigh that emulates the stress you both know this study will cause, he continues with his posture sagging. “I won’t lie, Miss. This will be an emotional commitment, and there will be times where it feels impossible to surmount. But we have all the specialists here. We have the lab equipment and the teams to ensure it is as smooth as possible. Your partner-” You wince at that. “-will have every opportunity for help here.  
“It all rests with you.”

* * *

The next few weeks are a blur. Of course, you accepted the offer to rehabilitate your Pokémon, and of course, you read through the contract and picked it over with a fine-tooth comb. It was all sound, as far as you could tell. A bi-monthly breeding attempt, with the first happening the moment you release them from the ball. They’ll assess the mental and physical state of your Pokémon if they deem the stress too great, and after a month of no-contact, they’ll introduce you two again. By the success rate of the two breedings so far, projections are good that you’ll reacquaint without a hitch. It’s hard to believe… But maybe your life is turning around, in some ways.  
Today’s the day, though. Not only have you paid up three months in advance on a studio apartment- thanks in part by the Lab, in part by the rock-bottom price-tag of the complex- but you’re on your way to the Pokémon Lab for the introduction day. You sweep in just after the Lab’s opened, dressed in a thin sprinkling of snow from the leisurely billows swirling outside, and make your way past the receptionist with a smile to match his. He follows close behind, pushing a cup of coffee that’s become a gentle habit between the two of you as you mutually navigate the basement level for the various observation studies.  
When you finally settle into the room they’ve dedicated to your introduction, you’ve finished the cup without complaint, and hand it off to the receptionist and bid him farewell.  
The room is painted in a fashion reminiscent of a children’s daycare. You know that isn’t the intention the moment you see the sunny-hued lamp overhead, spillings rays in the image of a false sun, but you can’t shake the impression. You’re in a not altogether unconvincing box painted in the likeness of a meadow, and the few scant pieces of furniture- a small side table, a low stool, and a cushioned Pokémon bed- are all modeled in such a way that they blend in startlingly well. The only thing that feels out of place is the double-sided mirror inset next to the door you just entered through.  
The PA system crackles quietly and you hear Professor Redwood’s voice, rich as honey, cut through the noise. “Good morning, Miss. Go ahead and take a seat while we ready your Pokémon. He’s just getting his vitals scanned now, for a baseline.” You oblige the request and take up the small stool for your seat, surprised to find it so comfortable. Or, more aptly, surprised to find that you _think_ it’s so comfortable. A tiny delineation, but one you note inwardly with a bit of confusion.  
While you wait, you can’t help but notice that you are starting to feel warm. “Is there somewhere I can store these until this is over?” you ask, shouldering out of your parka, the hoodie beneath, along with your scarf and gloves. A small drawer ejects from beneath the two-way mirror, and you stow your gear without a second thought. When it closes, and you hear something else open, you swiftly move back to your seat, hands wringing one over the other in nervousness. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, because you swear your heartbeat can be heard all the way on the first floor, it’s so loud in your ears.  
When nothing comes through the waist-high doorway to your right, you’re left feeling confused, and a little hurt. Both feelings are eclipsed by the punch of elation that takes your breath away when the ambling form of your childhood best friend peeks out from within. Creamy colored fur, golden crest aglow, and brilliant emerald eyes all are just like you remember from back then. And when his knowing hues settle on you, you can _feel_ the connection rekindle. The past six months be damned. It’s all worth it now.  
“…_Vesta_? La-_Larvesta_?”


End file.
